


Taste Your Blasphemy

by LuciferianRising



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood Drinking, Cunnilingus, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Post DMC5, Scenting, Sibling Incest, Sin Devil Trigger (Devil May Cry), Twincest, Unique Demonic Genitalia, demon biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:15:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferianRising/pseuds/LuciferianRising
Summary: Going into heat was never a fun affair, especially considering it'd been years since his last one.Going into heat with Vergil around? That's an entirely different thing altogether.
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 135





	Taste Your Blasphemy

**Author's Note:**

> Spurred on by the wonderful folks of the Spardacest discord. Thanks for putting up with my bullshit and encouraging me. [wink]  
> Title is taken from the song [Special Pets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_CCyJC0Qvo) by Otep.

Never one to dwell on the strangeness of things, Dante is more apt to go with the flow, rather than sit and question the semantics of it all. Still, though, there’s something undeniably weird about having his brother back, with him, in the Devil May Cry office nonetheless. When he’d first descended into hell, he’d imagined things would turn out completely different. 

After all, if life has taught him anything, it’s that no matter how many times he encounters his brother, something will eventually rip Vergil away from him. Dante had expected the worst in the Underworld, had expected Vergil to either disappear of his own volition in another act of spite, or something would inevitably claim his brother’s life once again. 

The two had found a veil between that world and the human world weak enough to allow the Yamato to slice open a tentative portal. They’d stumbled out together, and the moment Dante had gained his bearings, it’d struck him just how… how unexpected the outcome was. 

Here he was, alive after everything, and with his brother at his side once again. It seemed too… too good. Too picturesque and fairytale-ish, but Dante won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s grateful that Vergil is here, that Vergil hadn’t opened a portal to somewhere far off and disappeared before Dante could object. 

He’d pawned off the deed to Devil May Cry to Morrison before everything had gone down, fully expecting this to be his last endeavor. After all, as depressing as the thought was, Dante had been fully prepared to die taking his brother down. Hell, a part of him wanted to, wanted to lose himself with Vergil and drown out all the years of yearning and loneliness and way too many drinks. 

It’d almost happened, too, if Nero hadn’t been the one son of Sparda with the brain cell. He’d have to thank the kid later, for his life and his brother. Maybe treat him and Kyrie to some deluxe pizza, feed the kids while he was at it too. 

Even stranger, though, was settling into a living space with Vergil. Dante had expected his brother to want privacy, a place of his own, but Vergil had tentatively asked if he could spend the night at Devil May Cry, and one night turned into two, three, a week, and then a month. Dante never objected. 

He was just thrilled to have him back. To have some sort of connection with the sibling he thought he’d lost over and over again. 

And how those familiar habits settled in! It was like nothing and everything had changed, and it made Dante dizzy sometimes to think about it. Vergil was the same in a lot of ways, but different in others. More studious, but still quiet and reserved. Still sour at times, but more forgiving than he’d been in the past. 

In a way, they’d both matured so much over the past twenty-four years. 

Twenty-four years. Damn… Dante can’t believe how much time has passed. It still feels like a fleeting dream, watching his brother careen over the edge and into the Underworld, feeling the sting of his blade across his palm. Dante doesn’t dwell on it too much, doesn’t like the way it makes his entire being feel fraught with something gloomy and heavy. 

They don’t really talk about it either. Their past is a tentative subject, a line of thought that always ends with them baring their teeth at each other and storming off. Vergil especially seems to not want to recall his past, though Dante understands to a degree why. It’s riddled with too many painful memories, too many moments where Vergil wasn’t himself, where Vergil faltered, where he failed in so many places where Dante succeeded. 

Surviving was one of them. It’s still painful for his brother. 

Other than that, though, it’s surprisingly easy. Vergil takes the spare room on the other side of the upstairs, and spends an entire day moving old, dusty items out of it and new furniture in. He raids the storage room in search of interesting items, and finds an impressive stash of their mother’s notes stored in there, a discovery that makes him berate Dante for leaving them in such susceptible condition. 

Dante retorts that at least he’d had the mind to try and scavenge as many pieces of her library as he could, before it’d all crumbled into ash.

Vergil’s room is part bedroom, part library, and he likes to mull over their mother’s notes, when he’s not flipping through yet another poetry book or some sort of encyclopedia. And where Dante excels at taking jobs and cleaning up demon nests, Vergil has taken to collecting various archaic items, some of which are even Devil Arms.

He capitalizes on the growing interest in such items, and surprises Dante by vendoring them and various demonic secrets and rituals out to the highest bidder. For the first time in years, Dante finds himself out of debt, and with more money in the safe than he’s used to having. Of course, Vergil limits his spending. Of course he would, frugal bastard. 

Better than their semi-harmonious coexistence is the renewal of physical contact. Dante finds that Vergil allows his touches, if albeit cautiously, though he’s surprised he’s allowed any contact at all. His brother had always been so skittish about touching before, always shying away from contact as if the mere act of being touched burned his skin. Now, however, he seems more at peace. Whether it be with himself or Dante, he’s not sure, but either way, it’s a welcome change. 

It starts innocently enough; an arm slung around his shoulder (which is quickly shrugged off, but it still counts), a knuckle pressed into Vergil’s shoulder jokingly, a flick of his finger here and there when he felt like annoying his older twin. It makes Dante happy, he realizes, to be able to freely touch Vergil without fear of the other drawing his blade on him. 

It almost makes him think that Vergil had missed him as much as he’d missed the other. Almost. 

But years of pining and silent tears being shed into his bedspread and so much alcohol that Dante is honestly surprised his liver is still working can’t be erased so easily. No, Dante thinks. Vergil might have hurt at some point over their separation, perhaps even feels guilt now over it, but Dante is certain that he’d suffered more. 

He doesn’t dare throw it up into Vergil’s face, however. He wants to preserve the peace between them, doesn’t want to shatter the perfectly constructed image of their happiness with such derelict thoughts. 

It was all in the past, and it should be left there, Dante thinks to himself. No need in crying over spilled milk. That mess had been cleaned up. 

He’s always loved his brother, for as long as he can remember. Even as children, Dante had been enamoured with Vergil, always following behind him, always desiring his attention. That’d never change, even as they grew older and more bitter towards each other. If there was one thing Dante always craved, it was his brother’s attention. 

He loved Vergil. Truly, without second thought. Someone could ask him right now, and Dante would answer without a beat, without a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He loved him. 

He was _in_ love with him. 

Always had been. 

Always will be. 

It’s past the two month mark of their return to the human world. Dante’s busy chewing idly at a slice of pizza, feet kicked up on his desk and jukebox lazily trailing tunes throughout the office. There’s no work today, at least for him. The girls were only too happy to take the most recent job, complaining that Dante had been hogging most of the work to himself. It meant he could spend more time at Devil May Cry, with Vergil at least, so he hadn’t objected too hard. Sure, he’d postured and pouted, but it was all in jest. He loved teasing them. 

He’s dressed down - a pair of worn jeans and an equally worn Henley. It’s peaceful here, in the evening time, when the waning sun casts its dying embers through the front windows of the shop. Dante doesn’t often stop to appreciate moments like this, but it’s hard not to, especially with Vergil in such close proximity. 

His brother is lounged across the couch, ankles crossed and fingers flipping gently through a worn book. He’s also dressed down, having borrowed some clothes from Dante’s wardrobe for the time being. Just a dark, long-sleeved shirt with a comfy looking pair of sweatpants, it’s white waistband string tied into a neat little bow. 

Dante catches himself staring after a while, his eyes trailing lazily over Vergil’s relaxed form. It’s still so strange to see his brother with his guard completely down, so at ease and comfortable on his furniture. Not at all the cold and calculating swordsman that Dante had become so acquainted with. 

For the longest time, for such a large portion of his life, Dante had rejected his demonic blood, had fought tooth and nail to preserve his humanity more than anything. He’d rejected his instincts, his innate abilities in favor of pretending that they didn’t exist. His sense of smell, his territorial imperative, even his cursed biological needs that arose every once in a while - he’d fought against them feverishly, wanting nothing to do with that part of himself. 

But things had changed. Dante matured, grew more content with himself as the decades passed. What had once been a confusing landscape of urges and instincts was patiently smoothed out by Trish, who’d been more than willing to help Dante understand what it was to be a demon. 

His mind lingers on this, lingers on the fact that Vergil’s scent now permeated Devil May Cry along with his own. Having another powerful demon encroach on his territory had been a point of conflict during their first days together. Dante remembers having to quash the urge to growl and hiss anytime Vergil rearranged something, or criticized his living space. It felt invasive, to allow someone of such stature and power to simply waltz into his home and make it their own, too. 

But this was his brother. This was the person Dante loved more than anyone else in the world. So he’d fought those instincts, quelled the desire to pin Vergil and assert his dominance over the other in lieu of cracking a joke at the other’s expense. 

Vergil must have understood this, too. Dante might be well acquainted with his demonic blood now, but Vergil is undeniably the master of such things. He’d long accepted his demonic heritage before Dante had even considered doing such a thing. But either Vergil simply doesn’t care, is content to play human charades, or he feels that violent tug too. 

They’d bared their teeth at each other before. Of course Vergil felt it. 

It’s not really that bad, Dante thinks. The adversity had simmered down into something more enjoyable. Instead of feeling threatened by Vergil’s scent, Dante had come to enjoy it. Cool, spicy, and refreshing - with just a hint of cold steel and the tang of blood underneath. His brother’s powerful presence transformed from threatening into something reassuring. A balm for his wired nerves. 

At times, it would go from pleasant to downright mouthwatering. Even as he sits there, slowly enjoying the cheesy pull of his pizza, Dante can feel that hunger stirring inside of him. A hunger separate from his human desires, a need to sink pointed teeth into the delicate curve of his brother’s neck, and drink - drink until he’s satiated and Vergil is so dizzy that Dante has to hold him upright. 

Instead, he finishes his slice of pizza and stands up with a little bit too much fanfare from his desk, lumbering over slowly to where Vergil lay, reading his book. Dante seats himself on the edge of the sofa, sandwiching Vergil between him and its back. His brother only spares a scrutinizing look in his direction, before allowing his pale eyes to fall back to the pages of his book. 

That’s alright, Dante surmises. He’s not really here to disturb Vergil. He just wants to be close to him, has the innate desire to curl against Vergil’s side and get lost in his delicious scent. And he does just that, relaxing on the edge of the sofa and pressing his body against Vergil’s side. His brother says nothing, but his arm does move, gives Dante enough room to rest his head against the swell of his shoulder. 

Dante takes the invitation giddily, slings an arm over Vergil’s abdomen, and presses his nose into the fabric of Vergil’s shirt. He inhales slowly, a delicious blend of finery combined with carnage, and the scent of his brother seems to calm him; it lures him into a state of relaxation that has Dante feeling lax and sleepy at his brother’s side. 

Vergil’s arm curls around Dante’s shoulders, pulls him close to him in an almost possessive manner. The implication has Dante’s heart hammering away inside his chest, a rush of what almost feels like adrenaline coursing through him, before he’s dissolving back into his relaxed state, sleepily trying to scout words in Vergil’s book. 

Sleep claims him quicker than he’d expected, and Dante dozes off, tucked against Vergil’s side. He barely remembers the feeling of nimble fingers carding through his longer hair, only remembers how satisfying that’d felt between the wakefulness and his sleep. When he wakes, the shop is dark, albeit for a few lamps lighting the interior. The Jukebox has long since played through the songs queued, and silence reigns over Devil May Cry. 

The only sound that reaches Dante’s ears is Vergil’s steady, deep breathing. His eyes shift somewhat, and spy his brother, who seems to have dozed off as well, his book forgotten and cast aside, his hands still clutching onto the spine as if he’d fallen asleep while in the middle of reading. 

Vergil looks so different while he’s sleeping, Dante thinks. All the hard lines of his icy demeanor are smoothed away here, his face softer, his countenance more welcoming. It’s alluring to Dante, and it has him moving carefully, stretching within the confines of his brother’s grasp. He pulls himself up, his lips linger near the corner of his brother’s mouth, and Dante can’t help himself. 

He presses a gentle kiss there, and Vergil doesn’t wake. He mimics it with the other side of his mouth, another soft press against Vergil’s lips. Dante can feel something thrumming beneath his skin, a restless energy that makes him want to abandon all caution in favor of claiming Vergil in a searing kiss. He manages to hold back the more intense urges, and instead settles on pressing his mouth softly against his brother’s. It’s an innocent enough affair, though the demon inside Dante craves something more violent and satisfying. 

Vergil’s mouth tastes sweet, is comfortingly warm against Dante’s. Even as he begins to feel his brother stir beneath him, Dante doesn’t relent. He peppers Vergil with delicate kisses, his lips trailing from his brother’s mouth to the curve of his jaw. Dante’s breath is warm and damp against Vergil’s skin, and the sensations only serve to tease him into wakefulness quicker. 

He freezes when he hears Vergil’s voice break the silence, though it’s steady and even slightly sleepy. Not an ounce of annoyance or otherwise. “Sleep well?” 

“Had an awesome nap,” Dante murmurs, before resuming his previous actions, his mouth trailing lazily and open over the skin of Vergil’s neck. “Could get used to falling asleep like that.” 

“Hm,” Vergil hums thoughtfully. Dante can feel his slender fingers carding back into his hair, his blessedly blunt nails rubbing gently against his scalp. 

“Hey Verge,” Dante begins, his voice slightly muffled by his brother’s skin. Dante’s fingers curl slightly, gathering up the material of Vergil’s shirt between his fingers. “This is alright, right?” 

“Of course,” Vergil assures him, and his voice is quieter, gentler. Dante feels him shift beneath him, a slight turn of his head that aligns Vergil’s lips with Dante’s forehead. A kiss is pressed there, a motion so sweet and gentle that Dante can hardly believe it’s come from Vergil. 

“Good,” Dante exhales, his warm breath fanning out over Vergil’s neck. “‘Cause I’m not sure how much longer I could’ve held myself back.” 

“Patience isn’t your strong suit, brother.” Vergil notes dryly. 

“Nah, it never was. That was all you.” Dante chuckles lightly, and chooses that moment to nuzzle affectionately into the crook of Vergil’s neck. Despite having slept for at least an hour or two, he still feels - strangely enough - tired. Dante suppresses a yawn with the back of his hand, wanting very much to latch onto Vergil and fall back asleep. 

“Still tired, brother?” Vergil asks, and there’s a hint of what almost seems like concern in his voice. 

“Yeah, fuckin’ weird, huh? Guess I’m still feeling that hell lag.” 

Vergil is silent for a moment. All Dante can hear from him is what sounds like a deep inhale, before his brother’s cool breath is fanning out across his hair. “I see.” 

“You see what?” Dante questions him, finding the comment to be a little cryptic. Always cryptic, so very much like Vergil.

“It’s nothing,” Vergil dismisses him casually. Dante isn’t about to try and pry out whatever information he’s hiding, feeling much too tired and haggard to put the effort in. “You should rest.” 

“Ain’t gonna fight you on that, brother.” Dante stretches his legs out, feeling all the stiff kinks in his joints loosening as he does so. It is a little weird, he thinks. Usually, waking up from such a nice nap leaves him feeling energized, nearly bouncing from foot to foot. He honestly has no idea why he’s still so exhausted. 

“Perhaps it’d be best to use your bed.” Vergil notes pointedly. 

“And miss out on this? No way.” 

There comes a sigh from his older twin. “Dante… go to bed. This is no place to sleep.” 

Dante recognizes the first dredges of exasperation in his brother’s voice. He’s not about to annoy Vergil on account of wanting to cuddle with him all night. As loathe as he is to get up from his current position, he forces himself up and away from his twin with a groan. The bed does sound pretty comfortable right now… it’s a shame, he thinks, because he knows Vergil isn’t quite ready to follow him there. Not yet. 

“Fine, fine. Sheesh, if you wanted some space, you should’ve just said so.” It’s said in jest, but it’s also impossible to miss the way Vergil’s gaze hardens. Dante pays it no mind. “‘Night, Verge.” 

With that, he parts from the couch, and begins his ascent of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Even as he’s climbing the steps, Dante finds himself plagued with a weariness he hasn’t felt in a long time. It sinks into his bones, makes his limbs feel like heavy lead, and his eyes droop uncharacteristically. 

Really strange. Maybe a good night’s sleep will do him some good? 

He ends up falling into his bed with little thought, crawling under the covers and sighing out his pleasure at the feel of the plush duvet sliding over his skin. However, sleep doesn’t take him immediately. No, Dante finds that despite being so tired, he can’t shake the feeling of something not being right. Something felt off, like his body was trying to warn him of something, his instincts singing low and thrumming with caution. 

Minutes pass, and the feeling only seems to grow worse. Half an hour comes to pass, and Dante gets the distinct feeling of becoming feverish, his skin heating to an almost uncomfortable degree. He’s never suffered a human illness in his life, his demonic blood chasing out and burning away any sort of infection that may have found its way in. He’s starting to become a little concerned, lying in bed and sweating up a mess the way he is, but what can he do? He shoves the thoughts and sensations to the back of his mind, screwing his eyes shut and willing sleep to take him. 

It mercifully does, though he’s not at all prepared for what the next morning brings him.

* * *

The first rays of light are just beginning to shine through the blinds when he wakes. Dante, upon opening his eyes, immediately notices that something is wrong. Very wrong. 

The warmth from the night before seems to have exploded over night, and his whole body is wracked with a type of heat that nearly leaves him panting. The nerves in his skin are firing off a hundred different signals a second, his body feeling like a nuclear reactor on the verge of melting down. Even just sliding his arm along the comforter tears a gasp out of him, making him curl into himself. 

It’s a mistake, especially in the way his legs curl and his thighs press into each other, for the pressure it causes makes something between them throb heavily. Dante actually whimpers - _whimpers_ \- at the sensation, and it’s then that he realizes exactly what’s happening to him. 

He’s in heat. _In fucking heat._

Of course he didn’t recognize the warning signs; the fatigue, the desire to be close to a body, to lose himself in the feel of someone else touching him. The draw of his brother’s scent, the way it’d made him salivate. He hadn’t felt any of that in years, hadn’t been subject to the crueler part of his biology in such a long time. He’d actually thought that he was done with these things, perhaps having aged past a point where they were no longer important. 

But here he is, heated and aching and borderline panting as he struggles to parse through his foggy thoughts. There’s something damp spreading between his thighs too, a tell-tale sign of the murderous arousal that is sure to have him whining by the end of the day. 

And this was only the beginning. He’d be like this for at least four or five days. Goddamn the universe, this wasn’t fair. 

He reaches for the phone receiver that’s on his bedside table, the aged thing nearly falling from its dock as his hand fumbles clumsily before wrapping around its brass body. Dante yanks it towards his ear, almost ripping the entire thing from the table, and his fingers slowly dial the number that he’s thinking of. 

The call goes through, and the voice that answers is one that almost has Dante sighing in relief. “Hey, Dante. What’s up?” 

“Hey Lady. Trish around?” His voice is terse, and it pains him to know that she’ll start launching a myriad of questions at him soon. 

“Yeah,” She drags the word out, already suspicious of the change in his voice. Dante suppresses the urge to groan, afraid it would come out as a garbled moan instead. “Um, hey. Everything okay?” 

“Nah, babe.” He settles for honesty, though he tries to keep his tone as casual as he can. It’s not like he’s secretly panicking or anything, no, certainly not. It’s not like he’s terrified he’s going to be stuck like this, with no relief in sight for the next few days. Maybe an orgasm or two here and there to help stave off the worst of it, but Dante knows the itch can’t be entirely scratched unless he has someone else do it for him. “Think it’s my time of the month.” He jokes weakly. 

“Very funny.” Lady deadpans, and he can almost see her rolling her eyes. “What’s up with needing Trish?” 

‘Well, I am dangerously close to already losing my wits, and I’m afraid I’ll fuck the nearest thing, so I was hoping my not-mother friend who understands demon biology ten times better than me would help walk me through the ways to deal with it.’ It’s what he wants to say, but Dante was never much for vivid descriptions, so he keeps it nice and short. “Hey, do you remember that night, some years ago? When you came over, and we ended up-”

“Why do you have to remind me-” Lady groans through the phone, and the embarrassment that colors her voice is apparent. “It was a one time thing, Dante. We agreed we wouldn’t do it ever again.” 

“I’m not asking you to do it again, sheesh. Stop jumping to conclusions.” He means it to sound light and playful, but there’s a rough edge to his voice that borders on a growl. 

“Alright fine, then, but- wait.” She pauses, and Dante can swear he can hear the gears clicking in her head. “Wait a second. Are you…” 

“Yeah,” He laughs haggardly, his own voice sounding strange in his ears. “Go figure. I’m getting too old for this shit.” 

“Sucks to suck, I guess.” Lady says rather sardonically. 

“Thanks for the support, you’re a real buddy, y’know-”

“It’s a joke. Jeez, you really must be getting out of it.” She notes with a more serious edge to her tone. 

“Lady, I don’t even think I can make it out of this bed without doing something embarrassing.”

“So what do you want me to do? Trish is gone right now.” She asks, and for a few long seconds, silence reigns over the phone. Dante doesn’t want to imply anything, but he’s embarrassingly okay with the other outcome if it came down to it. Lady seems to catch on, and she sighs heavily before speaking. “If… you know. You need help-”

He can’t, however. Not in earnest. They’ve become too much like simple friends, and that’d put a damper on the mood, even if Dante is sure he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. “Nah, save that. ‘Sides, you and Trish got your own little thing going on, right? Would hate to be a homewrecker.” 

“Thanks,” She says, relief bleeding heavily into her tone. “So what’re you going to do? Just wait it out?” 

“Might as well,” Dante’s tone has an edge of defeat to it. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Hopefully it’ll be the last.” 

“Good luck with that,” Lady offers encouragingly. 

“Yeah. Talk to you later, babe.” 

The other line goes silent, and he throws the receiver half-heartedly back onto its dock, the noise of brass clanging making him wince momentarily. Everything is beginning to feel like too much, and it’s not even past the morning of the first day. It’s like Dante’s biology has come back to haunt him with a vengeance, and it’s intent on damn near crippling him for a while. 

He can feel his heartbeat throughout his body, fast and hot and overwhelming, and it times itself with the throb between his legs, a certain part of Dante’s anatomy beginning to make all manner of clothing down there a little too damp. 

Already, he wants to plaster himself against something and roll his hips against it, let his unsheathing cock drag against the surface and lose himself to something more primal than human. He doesn’t even realize his fingers have shifted partially into claws, and when they curl into his sheets during a particularly strong throb, they tear through the fabric and leave gaping holes in their wake. 

He fights the urge to bite down into his lip, knowing that to do so would leave them bloodied. He can’t trust that his teeth won’t sharpen, his body stuck in a limbo of two forms, both of which it can’t decide on.

“Fuck, fuck…” Dante curses softly, his voice breathy and strained. He wrenches himself onto his side, and rolls with careless abandon onto his stomach, his will finally shattering at the obscene amount of arousal that was sliding between his thighs. He bunches the blankets between his legs, his hips rolling forward against them, a slow and torturous pace set upon himself for no other reason than to make that tip over the edge just a little sweeter. 

He gets close so fast, almost embarrassingly so, and has to still himself against the sheets completely, his body threatening to snap at the smallest movement. Even breathing makes him feel like he could come at any moment, and Dante pants and shudders throughout it all, willing himself to hold on just a little longer. He hadn’t had nearly enough. 

Like it mattered. He’d be like this for days. There’d be plenty of time to drive himself mad. 

It happens so quickly, almost horrifyingly so. The door creaks open, the sound of his elder twin’s voice carrying softly throughout the room as he takes a step inside. Dante wishes he could curl up and die in that moment, but Vergil’s voice is like a shot of euphoria, and Dante can’t hold back the orgasm that ripples through him, making him tremble and tear through his poor sheets once again. He bites down onto his lip, willing himself to stay silent, and hopes with everything inside of him that Vergil didn’t hear a single sound. 

It does nothing, except draw that well of blood he’d tried to avoid. His voice is deep and throaty, a moan trapped inside of him begging to get out. He squeezes his eyes shut, too afraid to see Vergil’s expression, too scared to know what his brother’s reaction to his pitiful state must be. 

He tells himself this, though what he truly means is that he’s afraid he’ll beg Vergil to fuck him if he sees the slightest modicum of interest on his face. 

Though his eyes are closed, the scent of his brother carries across the space, and it dives deep into Dante’s senses, makes him nearly drool with the flavor it leaves on his tongue. He’s biting down hard then, sharp teeth sinking into the appendage in the hopes that he won’t beg like a desperate whore. He’s already tasted so much of his own blood that his mouth is coated with the coppery-sweetness of it. 

“I-” Vergil begins, but his voice catches, and Dante swears he can hear him physically swallow. He can only imagine the bewilderment on his face, and he would have laughed had he not been in such a compromised position. He does, however, hear crystal clearly the inhale Vergil takes, the slow draw of his breath in, before the shuddered, borderline grow of an exhale. 

Dante thinks that noise should scare him. It was predatory, through and through, a clear warning to anything that had a pinch of demon blood on it, but it does the opposite and goes right between his legs, stirring a flame that seemed to have died a moment ago. 

And he sees it too, lined on Vergil’s face - it’s pure lust and wanton need, and every bit of carefully schooled coolness that his brother once held is gone in an instant. But it’s still Vergil, in the end. He’s quick to wipe the expression from his face, opting to cover the lower half as if the scent in the room was too overwhelming. It probably was, if Dante had to take a guess. 

Dante’s not sure if it’s mercy or torture being offered to him when Vergil speaks his next words. “I will leave you alone.” Vergil retreats from the room faster than he came in, the door shutting just a bit too sharply for him to have been calm. Dante releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, and gasps for dear life, feeling like the low-lying embers were once against rising in height. 

There’s no way he can leave this room. If he does, he won’t be able to stop himself from finding Vergil, from trapping him and demanding that his twin fuck him until he can’t feel his legs. That’s not… that’s not what Dante wants it to be like. At least, he tells himself that, hellbent on finding all the negatives about his current condition. 

But _Jesus Christ_ , if it wouldn’t be so satisfying. 

Vergil never comes near his room, and the day passes at an agonizing pace. Dante burns, he writhes, he’s trapped between euphoria and exhaustion, and there is no discernable relief in sight. 

His poor bedspread was going to need washing after this.

* * *

It’s by what seems to be a pure miracle that sleep ever claims him. But he supposes a man, or in this case, a devil, will eventually succumb to their limits. It’s just a pain in the ass that his limits don’t seem to be anywhere in sight, until suddenly he finds the stop sign and runs head first into it. 

Being unconscious is a welcome reprieve. At least in his dreams, he doesn’t have to worry about the burn, the insatiable itch that never seems to go away no matter how many times he dips his fingers into himself or strokes at his slick cock. 

Vergil never comes by. Dante has a hard time finding his scent inside the shop, but it’s still there, just faint. Maybe he was too drunk off of his own scent to catch most of his brother’s. 

A part of him wishes he would come back, just so Dante could say fuck it and give in. He’s been having trouble convincing himself otherwise. 

He’s asleep, however, when his door cracks open, is unaware of the presence that steps softly across the floorboards, their bare feet barely generating a noise. He’s blissfully ignorant to the hand that pulls the blankets back, or the equally feverish body that slides beneath the covers with him. 

He does, however, wake at the feel of a hot mouth against his neck, and the feel of a tongue running across his heated skin before the barely there press of too sharp teeth has him gasping softly. He can feel their hand on his stomach, holding him down gently but firmly, the silent command making Dante want to melt under their touch. 

It’s a rasp when he says it, but it’s so full of love and want that Dante can’t believe it came from his lips, “Vergil…” 

And oh, the scent in the room, the overpowering scent at his side - he’s drowning in it, salivating at its sinful sweetness. Dante jerks sharply, moving with every intent to pin Vergil down and smother him with a needy kiss, but his brother’s hand holds him at bay, forces him to submit beneath his will, and Dante falters just as quickly as he’d begun. 

He equally hears and feels the growl beneath his ear, that demonic cadence giving Vergil an almost ethereal tone. Dante throbs, and chokes on a breath, his voice lost to him. 

Vergil is also not one to dawdle. When he wants something, he takes it, and he does just that when he allows his sharpened teeth to sink deep into the soft flesh of Dante’s neck, drawing forth generous wells of warm blood. The top of Dante’s henley is already damp with the liquid, and his head swims, his body tensing with a terribly unfair mixture of pleasure and pain. 

He welcomes it, however, is more than content to get lost in that intense combination. His hand smooths against the back of Vergil’s neck, his fingers carding up into his brother’s hair. The throbbing has gotten so intense now, that Dante can barely hold still beneath Vergil’s hand, wanting so desperately to press himself against Vergil, to feel perhaps the curve of his thigh - ride it until completion, anything to satisfy the heat inside of him. 

His vision is really starting to sway and ripple, and for a moment, Dante feels genuine fear, because Vergil hasn’t stopped and it doesn’t feel like he’s going to. “Verge, Verge…” He half moans, half whispers his brother’s name, and is blessed to feel those sharp teeth slip smoothly from his neck, a sigh of relief slipping past his lips. 

Vergil is winded next to his ear, and his breath is hot and damp against the wound on Dante’s neck. Dante can smell the sweet tang of his own blood, a heady combination with Vergil’s own scent. He suddenly tenses, clarity finding him for a brief moment as the question flows through his mind. 

“Verge, are you- you’re not-” 

“You did this to me,” Vergil growls deeply, “Yours triggered mine. I hope you are happy.” 

Oh, that was just _fantastic_ news. Dante hadn’t even thought of what the repercussions of his heat would be, let alone how it would affect another powerful demon. He almost wants to say sorry for subjecting Vergil to this - now they’d both be in deep shit for the next few days - but a selfish part of him is glad to know that his twin is just as hungry for him as Dante had been for Vergil. 

They could work through it together, at least. 

Nimble fingers grasp at his chin, and Dante is forced to meet Vergil’s heated gaze. He is given no warning before Vergil is claiming his mouth in a sharp, searing kiss, his tongue hot and sweet and invasive. Dante’s mind fizzles into static, the taste of himself intense on Vergil’s tongue. His mouth is licked into eagerly, his senses becoming flooded with the mere presence of his elder twin. The scent of him is maddening, that heady sweetness wafting from Vergil in thick waves.

Dante knows that if he can smell his brother’s arousal, then he himself must absolutely reek of it. 

The hand upon his stomach drifts lower, knowing fingers fiddling with the button on his jeans, the pair he’d forgotten to take off before collapsing into bed last night. Dante swears he can feel his stomach flip flop, his heart pounding frantically against his ribcage. Vergil’s hand slips lower, beneath the waistline of his boxers, and down to the long slit that had been steadily leaking.

Dante swears beneath his breath, his legs spreading just a smidgen wider, inviting Vergil to touch him. He feels his brother’s finger stroke teasingly along the folds, his attention making that rhythmic throb threaten to pull Dante over the edge again. He wants nothing more than to feel the plunge of those fingers inside of him, to relish in the way his brother would tease his sheathed cock out, inch by slow inch.

Vergil does not relent, however, content with simply stroking his fingers along that sticky slit, teasing Dante into such an aroused state, that the younger of the two is convinced his mind is going to break. 

“Stop fucking teasing already.” His voice is strained, needy. His breaths come quick and ragged, his head spinning. 

Vergil bites sharply at his bottom lip, his sharp teeth threatening to pierce through the tender skin. Dante hisses quietly at that, his fingers quickly sharpening into talons, his nails biting through the cloth at Vergil’s shoulder, leaving pinpricks in their wake. Vergil doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t mind. 

“Dante-” His brother’s voice is too breathy, too soft, but the change in tone goes straight between Dante’s legs, makes him ache sharply for the other. He can feel a finger dipping into him then, slowly sinking to the knuckle, its entry eased by the copious amounts of slick that has gathered there. 

And Dante _keens_ , he twists beneath Vergil and grinds his hips down, desperate for more. He craves the feel of his brother’s cock inside him, wants to be filled up and fucked so thoroughly that it renders him boneless. Instead, what he gets is the slow, methodical plunging of Vergil’s fingers, their pads rubbing teasingly at his walls, their tips grazing against the head of his dormant cock. 

Dante is left gasping for breath, his hips rolling downwards, each yearning motion dragging a moan out of his throat. Vergil swallows it down with a kiss, his attention leaving Dante’s lips red and swollen. The taste of Vergil is so pervasive, so mouth wateringly delicious that Dante has to try not to drool over it. 

His brother is suddenly moving away, however, leaving Dante feeling frustrated at the loss of Vergil’s mouth and his flavor. He makes his annoyance known. “Verge, c’mon…”

“Patience, Dante.” Vergil chides him gently, his fingers continuing their slick and torturous pace. Dante almost wants to growl at the insistence, but he swallows the noise down with a choked shudder. 

Then, Vergil is moving downwards, his nose skimming over the material of Dante’s shirt, down his stomach and even lower. His fingers slip out of Dante, leaving a wet and sticky trail behind them, running up and under his shirt and leaving Dante’s skin damp with his own arousal. Dante is just about to unleash a wave of complaints, but his voice catches on itself when he feels Vergil sliding his jeans down and off, taking his sweet time with undressing his lower half. 

His brother’s hands are smoothing over his naked thighs then, and they waste no time in parting Dante’s legs further. Vergil, having crawled between them, lowers himself, and Dante can’t help but whimper when he feels Vergil’s mouth press against him - hot and wet and teasing and every bit as good as Dante imagined it to be. 

He feels a slick tongue lick at him, and the velvety wetness of it almost makes Dante come right then and there. Instead his head tosses back into the pillows, his legs tensing at the slow licks being gifted to him. Vergil laps at him, lets his tongue dip between the folds of Dante’s slit. The sensation makes Dante twitch and shudder and moan without shame. His hips roll forward, against Vergil’s teasing mouth, and it’s so good that Dante has to fight to remain coherent. 

“Oh fuck, that’s- Verge- that’s so fucking good.” His voice is barely there, his breath catching on spikes of pleasure that nearly has him seeing stars. 

He can feel Vergil’s hands wrapping around his thighs, can feel the way his brother tries to press closer, tries to chase after the taste of Dante. He feels his tongue plunge deeper into him, feels it licking at his walls, stoking a flame that seems to burn hotter and hotter with each passing second. Dante shakes and trembles, rolls his hips against Vergi’s face, pants and moans and curses softly until he’s arching into the bed, coming loose with an orgasm that threatens to shake him apart. 

He can hear Vergil moan too, can feel his tongue brushing against the tip of his emerging cock. His brother seems to delight in teasing the organ out, his tongue lathing and guiding his cock between the lips of his slit, until Dante is left an incoherent mess, his entire body trembling violently beneath Vergil. 

He had no idea his brother was so good with his mouth. He can’t even begin to fathom where Vergil - stuck up, stuffy _Vergil_ \- learned to use his tongue so well. 

His nethers feel hot and slick, and they pulse with the remnants of his release. Dante’s cock has fully emerged now, a gratuitous trail of arousal drooping between it and his slit. Vergil wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, clearing his lips of Dante’s slick, his breath shaking on an inhale. 

His brother moves quickly, Vergil’s hand rising to snatch at Dante’s hair, and the younger of the two finds himself being dragged forward, his mouth crashing into Vergil’s with little grace nor care. The pinpricks of pain scattering across his scalp is enough to have him groaning into the kiss, his tongue full and heavy with the taste of himself. 

He’s so eager, so excited at the prospect of being filled and fucked so good that he can’t stop himself from fumbling with the sweatpants Vergil is wearing. Dante is pulling them down and over the swell of his brother’s dripping cock, and for a moment he feels disappointment at the fact that Vergil is already presenting. Dante would have loved to have returned the favor to him. 

It’s enough to tear a growl from Vergil, who pushes Dante back into the sheets with a little bit too much strength. The grip on Dante’s hips turns bruising, and one of Vergil’s hands slides up, beneath his henley, his sharpening nails trailing a dangerous trail over the sensitive skin of Dante’s stomach. 

Dante feels himself being yanked down and over the expanse of Vergil’s thighs, can feel the damp and slick slide of his brother’s cock over his entrance, and it takes everything in him not to fall apart right then and there. 

“Verge,” He draws his twin’s name out, a needy whine that siphons a carnal noise from his opposite. It’s at least comforting to see that Vergil is struggling just as hard to keep himself from unraveling. “Fuck me already, c’mon.”

“Hush,” The command is spoken sharply, brusquely. Despite this, Dante can feel Vergil’s hips pressing forward, the head of his cock rubbing almost impatiently at his nethers, drawing a wet and telling trail across the slit. Dante can feel it threatening to spread him apart. 

He is so sensitive and high strung that it’s almost pure torture having Vergil so close, and yet uncommitted. One of his legs curls around Vergil’s hips, pulls him invitingly closer, an action that Vergil seems to fight at first, before he’s growling impatiently and digging his clawed hands into Dante’s skin. 

“I’m going to ruin you, little brother.” Vergil all but snarls at him, his cock pressing against Dante’s entrance. “I hope you have stricken any future plans from your mind, because you won’t be walking once I’m done with you.” 

“Then shut up and fucking do it already,” Dante nearly growls back, his sharp teeth flashing for a moment. He’s almost at his wit’s end, feeling feverish and foggy with arousal, his entire body aching and throbbing for release. He wants to come undone, truly unravel and lose himself in the feel of his brother’s cock, be fucked so good and long that he can’t feel his lower half afterwards. 

He is not at all prepared for the feeling of actually being filled. It’s been so long since anyone has done this for him, most of his partners being too uncomfortable with his different anatomy to really indulge him. Lady, bless her heart, had tried with her mouth and fingers, but there’s nothing quite like having someone’s dick inside you, Dante thinks. 

And oh, it’s fucking good, blessedly so. Vergil slides into him almost effortlessly, Dante’s body accepting him like it was meant specifically for Vergil. Hell, maybe it was, maybe the two were designed purely for each other, having always been tied in one way or another. His legs tremble in ecstasy, his nerves firing off so many different signals that Dante can’t even concentrate. 

And Vergil, goodness gracious, _Vergil_ \- he wastes no time. His hips roll forward, burying his cock deep inside of Dante, and the motion has the younger of the two whimpering and twitching beneath him. Vergil’s hands are still gripping Dante’s hips, and when he draws back to thrust forward again, he yanks Dante’s hips down and towards him, drawing a haggard moan out of his brother. 

“Oh fuck, Verge- that’s **so good** , yeah, yeah-” Dante’s voice is high strung, breathy and stunted. He’s more than content to lie back and let his twin fuck him silly, and he does just that, let’s his body sink into the sheets and pillows, his thighs curl around Vergil needily. 

“Dante, Dan-” Vergil’s voice catches on itself, fades into a trembling moan that goes straight between Dante’s legs. Vergil’s leaning forward then, his weight collapsing into Dante, his chest pressing securely against his brother’s. Dante is only too happy to receive him, his arms coming to wrap around Vergil’s waist, his mouth finding the curve of Vergil’s neck. 

And oh - fuck - Dante can feel Vergil’s hips rolling forward, his cock dragging and rubbing against his walls so good that it leaves dark spots in Dante’s vision. Vergil writhes against him, his breath labored, his skin just as equally feverish and flushed as Dante’s own. 

It feels like he could get lost in his twin, could melt into his body and become one with him with how close they’re pressed. It still doesn’t feel like enough, leaves Dante wanting to latch onto Vergil and never let him go, never let anyone else experience this at this older twin’s hands. Dante wanted this all for himself now. 

His cock is leaking generously, a trail of pre-come painting Dante’s stomach and Vergil’s shirt. Everything feels so warm and wet and good, his senses on fire, his mind shorting out with the rhythmic thrusting of Vergil. Dante’s breath is one unsteady stream, his voice caught on ragged moans and half-formed words that refuse to take shape. 

It barely takes any time at all, that taut basin of pleasure pooling in Dante’s nethers reaching a fever pitch once more, sending the devil hunter into a fit of trembles and moans that are more fit for a common whore than himself. He knows the sheets below them are soaked, his slit dripping with release around Vergil’s cock, pulsing with an orgasm that leaves Dante feeling boneless. 

His walls quiver and hug at Vergil, his brother shuddering beneath the increased pressure, his hips faltering for a moment as his breath caught and shook on a moan. Dante wants to whine right then and there, demand that he continue fucking him before he flips them over and takes the reigns himself. 

Vergil’s voice is stiff, threatening to shatter with the slightest provocation. “Dante, stop- stop-” 

“Wha-?” 

“Please don’t move. Don’t move.” 

“Verge, come on.” He actually does whine, the noise making Vergil want to throw caution to the wind and fuck him to the brink of no return. “If you’re afraid of hurting me or something, you’re not going to. I’m not some dainty piece of fine china or something.” 

_I’m not human_ , Dante wants to say, but that admission is one he’d rather avoid. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Vergil continues, and his voice goes rough with the beginnings of a growl. “If I… If I trigger, I won’t be able to stop.” 

His brother, triggering inside of him, that flow of cold and electric power surging through his body, lighting him on fire, leaving him totally at the mercy of Vergil’s whims - Dante can barely contain his enthusiasm at the idea. He rolls himself against Vergil, hears and feels him jerk against his body, a temporary lapse in his control. 

“Dante-!” Vergil chastises him sharply, his teeth teasing the skin near Dante’s collarbone. 

Dante’s hands lower, slide beneath the back of Vergil’s shirt and drawl a smooth line up his brother’s spine. He can feel Vergil shudder beneath his touch, his skin just as sensitive and susceptible as Dante’s own. When Dante speaks, his voice is hushed but firm, “I want all of you, Verge. I don’t want you to hold back.” 

The sound of something crackling reaches Dante’s ears. He can feel more than see the changes happening to Vergil’s body, can feel the rise of scales beneath his fingers, can taste the ozone in the air around them, can smell the tang of blood and steel. All it takes is a moment for Vergil to shift, and suddenly Dante is being pinned down by his brother’s Sin Devil Trigger, Vergil’s size changing from just another body to something that has Dante absolutely pinned beneath him. 

In that moment, Dante feels more like prey than anything else, his instincts screaming at him to escape, to fight back, his demonic blood rearing its competitive head at Vergil’s transformation. He berates himself internally for his reaction, instead focusing on the way Vergil’s cock seems to swell and enlarge, noticeable ridges forming along its length in his transformed state. Dante can feel them digging into his insides, creating a sweet sort of pressure that almost has Dante’s eyes rolling back into his head. 

The only warning he gets is a low, dual-toned growl, before Vergil is thrusting into him, his hips jerking forward and sending his demonic cock deep into Dante. Dante can’t hold back the cry that rips from his throat, his voice sounding too light and vulnerable to be his own. But oh god, if it doesn’t feel fantastic, if it doesn’t make his toes curl and his dick twitch, pre-come dribbling down the length of it tellingly. 

Vergil’s wings twitch behind his demonic form, large and imposing and blocking out most of the light from the window. Dante’s body is jostled like a ragdoll with each thrust, the pillows going more ary beneath the force of Vergil’s fucking. Those ridges are rubbing at Dante so good, teasing him towards release once again, making him shake and babble and roll his hips against Vergil in an attempt to feel more of them. 

He can feel Vergil’s arms sliding beneath him, his claws dragging across Dante’s back, shredding lines into his henley. Dante’s skin stings with the cuts they bring forth, the wet bubbling of blood recognizable despite the heat wracking him. His brother leans back, pulls Dante with him and into his lap, and despite the change in position, continues fucking him effortlessly. 

The change in angle brings with it a whole new line of pleasure, and Dante is only too happy to sink down onto Vergil, to ride him with abandon and let that massive organ spread him wide open. He doesn’t even realize that his voice has taken on a will of its own, his approval spilling out of him in garbled moans and gasps. “Yes, yes, yes, oh fuck, **_yes_ **-”

“You’re mine,” Vergil rumbles, his dual-toned voice slicing through Dante like a breeze of chilling wind. “Mine, mine, mine, mine-” 

“Fuck yeah,” Dante encourages him breathlessly, back arching beneath the pressure of Vergil’s cock hitting a particularly good spot within him. He doesn’t have much room to move, for Vergil’s wings choose to curl around him, holding him firm against his brother’s body and cocooning Dante within their massive, leathery cage. 

He feels so full and thoroughly fucked, so wet and sticky with his own arousal and previous release. Vergil fills him up in a way that leaves him feeling satisfyingly full and taken care of, used and abused but not without care. Dante lets himself get lost in the midst of it all, body jerking with each thrust that seems to grow in urgency and power. 

His mind fizzles out, static filling his senses as Vergil fucks him towards another orgasm. Dante can feel something swelling at the base of his brother’s transformed cock, knowing very well exactly what it was. The thought has him sinking deep and low onto Vergil’s dick, urging him to do exactly what their nature demands. 

Vergil’s arms lock around Dante, the heat of the blades protruding from his forearms almost searing when so close to Dante’s skin. His voice is warped by his demonic form, rendered choppy and breathless by the pleasure mounting inside of him, a cacophony of moans and growls and hisses that betray their demonic nature. Dante can feel him chasing after his own end in the form of fucking into him mercilessly, each upwards thrust making Dante’s vision fade and warp with black spots. 

The feel of that knot swelling inside of him, of Vergil’s scaled body shuddering and catching on his release has Dante nearly drooling from the pleasure. Vergil moves inside of him with small, aborted movements, that thick knot and those delicious ribs rubbing against Dante’s walls, making him fall apart with yet another orgasm. His thighs are drenched, dripping Dante’s approval, and Vergil’s lap carries with it the mess of their coupling. 

Dante leans forward, rests his head against the crook of his brother’s neck, content to lose himself in the waves of euphoria coursing through him, his body trembling against Vergil’s. He rolls his hips, rides that thick knot until he’s so overstimulated that even shifting minutely has him desperately whimpering. 

His insides feel warm and used and wet with Vergil’s release and his own, and Dante knows that as soon as they part, it’s going to be a huge mess. The laugh that spills out of him is worn with fatigue and satisfaction. 

Vergil’s two-toned voice is strained when he speaks, but it’s calmer, more so himself than the moaning creature from before. “What’s so funny?” 

“Ah, brother, I’m just wondering where you got so good with this.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Vergil nearly snarls, his wings curling around Dante tighter. For a moment, Dante can’t help but feel like the majority of the heat has been chased away by Vergil, but he knows it won’t take long for the cravings to come back. His body, now having had a taste, would want more of the powerful demon currently knotted inside of him.

“I’d love to hear the story.” 

“Shut up, Dante.” Vergil hisses lowly at him, his claws dragging threateningly over Dante’s bare skin. 

“Touchy.” Dante notes, his voice carrying with it the weariness he suddenly felt. Not even he was apparently immune to being fucked silly by a powerful demon.

He swears Vergil must roll his eyes. It seems to perfect a reaction from his elder twin. What he does get is Vergil falling onto his back, taking Dante with him as he goes. Dante’s legs part around Vergil, and he allows his full weight to rest on top of his brother’s transformed body. The knot still steadily pulsing inside of him is still as thick as ever. Dante doesn’t mind though, kind of likes the way it throbs and pulses and teases him just enough to have the faintest line of pleasure shooting down his back. 

Those clawed fingers curl into the length of Dante’s hair, but surprisingly don’t tug or drag against his scalp. Dante can feel them carding through the strands, the clawed tips careful not to knick his skull. It’s enough to have his eyes going half-lidded, exhaustion creeping up on him quickly. 

Dante doesn’t even remember closing his eyes.

* * *

When he wakes, it’s a mostly peaceful affair. Dante blinks blearily, now lying curled up on his side. The room feels warm and humid, the rich scent of his and Vergil’s actions permeating the air thickly. Everything smells too sweet, too heady, and Dante has to struggle not to wrinkle his nose. 

Heat still thrums throughout his body, a steady and patient pulse that reminds him of his current condition. But it’s not bad, not even comparable to what he’d felt just hours before. Dante shifts his legs, feels wonderfully sore and used, the remnants of their time together dried stickily against his thighs. 

He needed a shower, but first, he needed to make sure his legs worked. 

Dante tries to curl them in, feels how lifeless and jelly-like they are, and immediately nixxes the idea from his mind. Okay, shower later, boneless afterglow now. He could wait. 

Vergil lies opposite to him, still sleeping soundly, his skin flushed and warm, but his face is lax with comfort, content for now. Dante grins at his brother’s sleeping form, and he inches closer across the bed, curling a leg around Vergil’s and smoothing his hand across his brother’s side. Vergil still doesn’t wake, but he stirs somewhat, whispering something beneath his breath before falling back into his deep sleep. 

Dante tries not to let his heart swell too much at that. It was easy to get lost in his feelings for Vergil these days, especially now that the idiot was back by his side. Dante couldn’t help but feel something as he lied next to Vergil, something akin to relief. Happiness, even. 

He could wait for his brother to wake up. After all, he had every intention of paying Vergil back. 


End file.
